Friday Night Aspirants
At least it isn't hailing
In Napoleon's café
Although it's somewhat gusty
All over Saint Tropez
Where muezzins are wailing
He pawned the best umbrella
To his uncle Montague
Who saw how very rusty
It was 'ere it was new
When stored in Samson's cellar
And so, with sopping forehead
And a missing left galosh
Beneath a briefcase trusty
He hid the bloodstained cosh
And other items horrid
At least he wasn't whizzing
Or engaging in a dance
With harlots lean and lusty
As shills for games of chance
Or soda pop un-fizzing
| Contributors: | Beefy, Roland, F, Apsley, Kansas Sam. |
| Poem finished: | 19th August 2004 by Beefy. |